Little Wonder
by Vibeke E
Summary: He heard her whisper: "Don't leave me, Scott." His hand tightened onto the handle until it hurt. "I'm not," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, kid." His heart felt like a bomb ticking in his ribcage. He closed the door behind himself and leaned back into it with a wretched sigh, then sank down to the floor with his head between his hands. He was so screwed.


_Maybe I'm not the world  
Maybe I'm not the stars  
Maybe you're not the girl  
What if you are?_

 _Maybe I'm not the boy  
Maybe I'm not the man  
Maybe I'm not the one  
But what if I am?_

― Echo & The Bunnymen, What If We Are

.

.

.

Scott stared disapprovingly as Wanda gulped down another shot of tequila.

The other guys were enjoying the night out – Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint. To be a bunch of proclaimed criminals in hiding, they sure had a lot of fun. Especially during Booze Night on Fridays down at _The Bloody Stream_.

Oh, the irony.

They sure had a knack for picking _suggestive_ places. After months, Scott still found it a little awkward to sit and cheer in a pub with such a name. The others didn't seem to mind, though, so he'd just tried to ignore it. It wasn't like he didn't like it there. _The Bloody Stream_ was a damn fine bar, all dark wood and raw stone, a ridiculously typical Irish pub where you could feel at home and on a completely different planet all at the same time.

Living in Howth was… odd. As if Ireland hadn't been a small enough country to retire to, they'd decided to settle down in probably the smallest village ever, which was nice and cosy and everything, alright, but literally had nothing to offer but seagulls and fishers and, if you were lucky, fat seals. That, and the best fish and chips Scott had ever tasted in his life.

It was a night like many others. They didn't really have much to do around there and drinks night was something they all anticipated during the week. Cheesy as it might sound, they had become some sort of weirdly close-knit family, and that was a slight comfort to Scott, who never spent a day without terribly missing his daughter.

He'd grown closer to these guys, but the one he'd really connected with was Wanda – Scarlet Girl, as he liked to call her, just to tease. She claimed she hated it, but he knew better. It was their thing and she loved it. Nobody ever missed the small smiles she stubbornly tried to stifle whenever he called her that, and Scott was a sucker for Wanda's rare smiles. Oh, boy, he really was.

She was being silent, tonight. More than usual, at least, and that had been worrying Scott for a while, now. She was sitting at the end of the counter, seven empty shots of tequila in front of her, her pale face, so absent, turned downwards to her folded arms. Next to her, Steve was too busy laughing with Bucky at Clint's jokes to really notice she wasn't really _there_.

Scott had been about to go to her and beg her to stop drinking when he saw her stand up and disappear outside.

He considered leaving her alone – if she'd left, she obviously needed some time for herself. He barely lasted a minute.

"I need some fresh air," he announced, probably uselessly, leaving his beer unfinished. He wasn't going to nag Wanda; he only wanted to make sure she was safe.

He found her perched on top of the low yellow wall in front of the pub, looking in the distance towards the sounds of the sea and its salty breeze. She looked… emotional, and a little broken.

Somehow, the air around her felt colder. As Scott approached, the hairs on the nape of his neck rose and a shiver crawled down his spine. It took him a moment to realise.

It was _her_. The cold was coming from her.

"Hey, Scarlet Girl."

Wanda stiffened for a split second, then seemed to relax. She tucked a lock of hair behind an ear, turning slightly. "Hey, Ant Guy."

 _Good_ , Scott thought, releasing a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding. That was her usual response to his teasing. His presence wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"Pretty chilly out here, aye?" he said in his best Irish impression, which was embarrassingly lame, and maybe because of that, it seemed to do the trick: a corner of Wanda's mouth twitched just the slightest bit.

"It was too hot, inside. I felt like I couldn't breathe."

The alcohol had flushed her cheeks, made her eyes glossy. At her sides, her fingers clutched the stone wall like they wanted to break it.

In a couple of strides Scott was beside her. She was sitting higher than his eye level; the streetlamp above her cast a ghastly light onto her, outlining the long shadow of her lashes onto her cheekbones.

Scott was sure songs and poems had been written for beauties that were nothing compared to Wanda's. Yet, there was no lovesong that could sing Wanda's beauty and give it justice. Only tragedy could depict such a painful, breath-taking sight.

"You shouldn't have been drinking," he said, looking up at her, elbows casually stretched along the railing behind him.

Wanda shrugged, her throat bobbing. "I'm twenty-one."

"The fact that you legally _can_ doesn't mean you should."

The wind blew Wanda's hair off her back. Strands of it brushed Scott's face, making him want to brush it back behind her shoulders.

"I needed that."

Her voice was a hoarse whisper. It could be because of the crisp air, or because she'd had one or two shots too many. Or maybe neither.

"There's no comfort at the bottom of a glass." Scott nudged her knee with his elbow, trying to get a reaction – anything – from her. "Trust me, I've tried."

Wanda kept staring at the horizon, at the silver lining of mist above the calm surface of the sea. _Hold me_ , she seemed to be screaming inside. _I'm small and broken. Someone hold me_.

"I miss my brother." Wanda spoke with ghosts of tears in her eyes and a slight quiver in her lower lip. Scott could sense the lump in her throat as if it had been his own. "Sometimes I miss him so much I feel like I'm being torn apart from within."

He knew the story. He knew of the bond the Maximoff twins had shared – something beyond blood ties and any common concept of love. He knew that Wanda and Pietro had been more than brother and sister, linked to one another by something infinitely above human comprehension. Scott himself would never understand what had meant for her to lose her twin, but one thing he knew: her sorrow was beyond healing and he wasn't going to be the fool who'd tell her it was time to move on. She was going to carry her brother's absence heavy in her heart until her dying day, and whoever said the contrary had clearly never known love like Wanda had.

Scott offered a gentle rub on her frozen hand. "I'm so sorry."

Wanda's fingers, probably unconsciously, responded to the touch, spreading just enough to allow Scott's to settle in between them. His thumb kept rubbing soothing circles over her skin, just above her pinkie.

"He was everything to me," she muttered, and Scott wasn't sure she was actually talking to him. "Now I have nothing."

"Hey!" Scott straightened up at once, turning to look her in the eye. His hand couldn't seem to be able to detach from hers. "Come on, don't say that. You have a bunch of awesome friends in there, and they all love you very much."

"Why do I still feel like an empty shell, then?"

The quiver in her voice shattered Scott's heart. "Oh, sweetheart. You're so young and so brave… But you shouldn't carry this burden on your own. You don't have to. Loss will drive you crazy if you don't open up and let people help you. Don't do this to yourself."

Wanda glanced down at their joined hands. Her fingers flexed tentatively, shifting until they intertwined perfectly with Scott's. She scrutinised him with those huge eyes, bright as the moon in the dim light of the street.

"Why are you here, Scott?"

Oddly enough, it didn't sound like a question.

"Ah." Scott scratched the back of his head. He didn't want to make it look like he was stalking her or something. "I saw you walk out and I thought... You looked like you might need someone to watch over you."

Something shimmered in Wanda's eyes. Her pinkie hooked around Scott's as she said: "You do realise I can literally tear people down to their subatomic particles, right?"

Scott reprimanded himself for blushing like a schoolgirl. "Hey, I said _watch over_ , not protect," he mumbled pathetically. "I know you can defend yourself. Doesn't mean you have to face everything alone."

Wanda smiled wistfully – fondly. "That sounds like something my brother would have said."

"He must have been a great guy."

Wanda faced way. For a moment, Scott feared he'd said something wrong. He'd never been good with words and talking feelings was not exactly his forte. But then Wanda turned back to him and gave him a brittle smile. "He was," she agreed, then met his gaze. "You are, too.

Scott grinned awkwardly. "Not remotely. But I do try my best."

Wanda fell silent for a while. Gradually, the icy aura around her subsided, leaving only the cold of the wind to make them shiver.

"Hey, how about we head back inside? It's getting a little _arctic_ out here."

He offered his arms to help her down. Wanda considered the invitation; after a moment, she put her hands on his shoulders and let him grab her waist to ease her off her seat. When her feet touched the ground, she didn't let go.

"I don't want to go back inside."

Scott frowned. She was tipsy, that much he could tell.

"Really? We're gonna lose a couple of limbs if we linger in this– "

Wanda's hands slid down his torso to fold around his waist. "Stay here with me."

Scott gulped.

What had gone wrong? This wasn't supposed to happen. All he'd wanted was to check up on her, make sure she was okay. This was a big no-no.

He'd fantasized about this long enough to know where this was going, and it was a dangerous path they were going down. He wasn't going to give in to temptation – not with Wanda in this state – but he was only human and the chemicals in his body wouldn't stay put for much longer.

Wanda's hands were a sweet torture on his back, but he had to make himself take a careful step back when she pulled him dangerously close.

Wanda withdrew immediately, looking hurt and dismayed by his rejection.

"Wanda, look," stuttered Scott desperately, cursing himself for yet another wrong move. "You're… you're beautiful. Oh my god, you're absolutely _gorgeous_. You're so hot I can't even –" He trailed off, trying to regain a little composure. He didn't know what to do with his hands: he felt like hugging her, to show her he was there for her, but he also felt that, if he did that, he wouldn't be able to let go. "But, look. You're a kid. Alright?" He saw her shiver and put his hands over her arms. "And I know I don't look like one, but I'm a decent man – mainly – and I can't take advantage of your fragility."

He hadn't seen this coming. He and Wanda had developed a nice friendship over time and they surely spent a lot of time together – more than with the other guys of the team, to be sure – and not for a single moment Scott had doubted any of Wanda's attention in his regards could mean anything more than just _that_. He was no fool: he was old enough to be her father and she was just _too much_ to even consider a wreck like him.

Or so he had believed.

He was no fool? Yeah, scratch that.

Wanda pressed her lips together, sniffling a little. She was stiff and inexpressive. "I really like you, Scott."

Oh, god, her accent. Her accent gave his name a whole new sound – _a stupidly sexy sound_. It crawled under his skin and hit him right in his weakest spot, causing his legs to turn to jelly and his lower stomach to twist in guilty pleasure.

"Oh, man," he groaned, shaking his head in a vain attempt to get rid of that deplorable wave of burning desire. "I like you, too, kid. I really, really do." He groaned again, throwing his head back in frustration. "Please don't make me say things we'll both regret. You're not yourself right now. Let's get you home and maybe talk about this some other time. Or never. How about that?"

Scott felt the temperature shift under his palms. There it was again, the frozen halo from Wanda's heart.

"I'm so cold."

Yeah, and this time it was all his fault. Who would have thought that having principles could do so much harm?

"Okay," he said. "Okay." He stepped back and stripped off his leather jacket. "Here, take this."

Wanda passively let Scott slip the jacket up her arms and over her shoulders. She said nothing, but at least she wasn't trembling anymore.

"Can you walk?"

Wanda hugged herself, looking impossibly small and fragile in Scott's too large jacket. She attempted a couple of wobbly steps and Scott caught her right before she lost her balance.

"You can't walk," he determined, his boldness sinking a little. He didn't have much of a choice, now. Heaven help him. "Okay," he sighed, lifting her up in his arms as carefully as he could. He tried not to think about the stomach-clenching feeling of her tights under his palms. "Oh, god, this is so bad in so many ways. Are you okay with this?"

"Mmh." Wanda had curled up against his chest, face buried in his shirt. He could tell she was slowly drifting into sleep.

"I got you, kid." He wasn't sure if he was reassuring her or himself. "It's alright. I'll get you home safe and sound. It's alright."

Home was just a stroll away down the street. It wasn't much – a small cottage with peeling blue paint and definitely not enough room for the six of them – but they'd grown used to it, and it wasn't so bad, after all.

Wanda weighted more than he'd expected. He was so focused on _not_ focusing on her body against him that he'd missed how much muscle the girl had on her. Powerful and lethal as a hero, as a woman she was just as strong in her body as she was in her soul.

 _Stop it!_ he yelled to himself. _Stop that immediately, Scotty!_

"The Captain'll kill me if he sees us like this," he grumbled under his breath. "Clint, too." He Glanced down at Wanda, half asleep and blissfully unaware of his mounting anxiety. "Hope you appreciate my sacrifice – if you remember any of this at all. Which you probably won't." He panted, readjusting his grip to sustain Wanda more firmly. She _was_ heavy. "Bring flowers to my grave, Princess, will you?

"No," Wanda moaned, and Scott's heart had already cringed a little when she absently added: "I don't want another grave to cry upon."

"Yeah. Fair enough. Wait." Scott stopped dead in his tracks. A cat ran past them and disappeared into a garden. "Did you just say you'd cry on my–? Wanda?"

No reply came.

Wanda nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck, sighing peacefully. She was soft and strong in his arms, a warrior in a faerie's body, and she smelled so good, so sweet – of cinnamon and liquor.

A child.

A woman.

Neither.

Both.

Wanda's lips brushed against Scott's neck as she nestled closer to him, her fingers digging into his flesh as if she was afraid he might let go of her any moment. As if he was all that kept her together.

And having her like this, just… just _with_ him – it felt… awfully nice.

 _Oh, girl, why are you doing this to me?_

Scott tried to convince himself it felt so nice because of fatherly instincts or some bullshit, but, of course, failed spectacularly. The way his whole body seemed to stir and tense all over while holding Wanda so intimately spoke volumes of how _unfatherly_ he was feeling right now. He was deeply ashamed for that. He shouldn't be having such thoughts about her. Not now, nor ever. But especially now that she was cuddled in his arms, so helpless and so trusting.

"I missed this," she muttered, half unconsciously, her voice a husky whisper muffled by sleep and something else Scott couldn't quite place. Something blue and desperate. Scott didn't really know what she meant by that, but he had an idea or two. He could feel how lonely she was, he could sense the cold that draped her soul like a dark, heavy shroud.

When he finally laid her down on her bed and tucked her in, he added an extra blanket, just in case, then brushed a few strands of hair from her face. He told himself it was completely accidental if his fingers lingered a little too long over her cheek.

He was already on the threshold, when he heard her whisper: "Don't leave me, Scott."

His hand tightened onto the handle until it hurt. "I'm not," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, kid."

His heart felt like a bomb ticking in his ribcage. He closed the door behind himself and leaned back into it with a wretched sigh, then sank down to the floor with his head between his hands.

He was so screwed.

 **x**

He woke up next morning to the sound of a door creaking open. This damn house was full of drafts and creaking things.

He gained conscience gradually, first realising he was lying on something cold and hard (the floor, probably), and then noting someone had draped a plaid over him. It was the pink fluffy shit Clint had bought at the Two Euro store in Dublin.

It must be early. The whole house was silent and still. Everyone usually slept until noon after Booze Night. Judging by the light pouring through the windows, it was barely sunrise.

"Scott?"

He blinked. Every inch of his body hurt like hell. He rolled to one side and tried to get up, to no avail. He must have broken a bone or something – or all of them, probably, since his body was creaking like the wood of the house.

He looked up and found a small hand offering assistance.

"Hey, little Wonder," he greeted with a pained moan as he slowly stood up. His limbs were in pure agony.

In the middle of all that unpleasant discomfort, he somehow managed to notice that Wanda was in her pyjamas – a horrible canary-yellow set scattered with creepy wide-eyed kittens. She must have changed at some point during the night, because he definitely hadn't helped her into that. Or had he?

Wanda smirked lopsidedly. "Since when have you called me that?"

Scott massaged his back. He felt crumpled like an old piece of paper. "It... just came out. You kind of are, aren't you? A little wonder."

Wanda stared, then did something with her hand, like a half flourish in the air, and suddenly Scott's whole organism wasn't aching anymore.

"Thank you for last night," she said before he could thank her for whatever she had just done to him.

"Oh." Scott's features froze in a stupid gape. "You... you remember." His ears felt hot, too. Very, very hot.

"I do."

She remembered.

 _She remembered_.

Fuck.

" _All_ of it?"

Wanda shrugged. "Most of it."

"Ah." Scott didn't feel relieved at all. "Well..."

He shouldn't be nervous, though? It wasn't like they'd overshared or anything. They liked each other. So what? Both of them liked every other single dude in the team. It didn't mean a thing.

Wanda cast him a fleeting glance, hands tucked into her pyjama's pockets. Her bare feet brushed absently against the floor.

"Is it a good time to talk about it, now?"

Scott frowned. "Talk about... oh. _Oh_." Realisation dawned upon him. It. _It_. She did remember. Shit. "You want... you want to talk about... uh."

He needed to stop scratching the back of his head. He was an adult – maybe not perfectly functional, but a damn adult nonetheless. And a superhero. If Ant Man could save people's lives, then Scott Lang could at least have this conversation.

Right?

The sheepish way she eyed him destroyed all his determination in a blink. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Understatement."

Wanda looked down apologetically, and the genuine mortification painted across her face was almost too much to bear.

Scott immediately regretted opening his damn mouth. He grabbed her wrist and lead her down the hallway, away from the bedrooms. The last thing he needed was the whole household to witness his disastrous sentimental clumsiness. It was already bad enough that he'd been caught sleeping outside Wanda's room – and, honestly, he was surprised he hadn't woken up with a death threat upon himself, instead of a merciful plaid.

"Look, it's not your fault," he said hastily. Oh, man, why was he so bad with words? "It's mine. All mine. I can't seem to get anything right when I'm around you." Wait, that had come out wrong. "In – in a good way." _Abort! Abort!_ "I – I mean..."

"I remember," said Wanda, who wasn't really listening to his nonsense. She seemed far away, brows furrowed in concentration. "Telling you I liked you."

She rose her eyes into his, and Scott felt a million daggers strike him in his chest.

It was then that he realised he never stood a chance. He could never turn away from her. How could he? She was looking at him like he was the world. So hopeful. So beautiful and so _needy_. He wanted to embrace her. He wanted to kiss her.

Oh, boy, _he wanted to kiss her_. He wasn't even trying anymore.

"Yeah," he breathed croakily. "I remember, too." _Kinda hard to forget that._

"And you said," Wanda continued, showing no mercy for Scott's poor nerves. "You liked me, too. Did you mean it?"

 _How can I not?_ , he thought, paralised by Wanda's stunning eyes and the silent prayer he read in them. _Look at you. Oh, just look at you, baby. It's so unfair. Smart and kind and... and..._ _so beautiful. Beautiful and lonely_.

He was so awed and mesmerised by every single thing about her that he forgot to lie: "Every word."

Wanda nodded weakly, eyes too bright, too glossy, and swallowed hard, a small, hopeful smile trapped in her attempt to hold back the tears.

"Every day," she began. "I struggle to keep myself standing, but without him – without Pietro, no matter how hard I try, I still feel like I'm limping my way through life. And then one day you're here…" A single tear rolled down Wanda's cheek as she finally allowed herself to smile shyly, wrapping her arms around herself. "And I don't even know who you are," she continued, emotion vibrating in her voice. "But you just open your mouth and suddenly I find myself smiling."

Scott could swear his heart stopped when she cupped his face with one hand. His heart fucking _stopped_ , and he didn't care because nothing else mattered: only Wanda's touch and those eyes – those damned, striking eyes – looking at him and nobody else. Nobody else.

Wanda's thumb ran over his cheekbone, and Scott could hear her breath catch. "I don't know how you did that – made me smile again," she whispered. "But you did. You did, and I'm so grateful for that."

An unexpected warmth had filled the air around them. It reached into Scott, spreading its radiance down to the very bottom of his soul, bringing light where he had believed there would never be any.

He became vaguely aware his psychological balance was about to tip. He was trying to be tough, but he was an emotional mess and his brain was having a hard time keeping up with his feelings. He fumbled for words and only found bright, blinding light in his head.

"That's great, kiddo," he heard himself say. "I'm glad to hear that."

 _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. What are you even doing, Scott?_

He was doing… the sensible thing?

He was staying grounded and realistic. Keeping his hopes down.

Wanda stepped closer and rested her free hand on Scott's chest. The contact burned like fire even through several layers of clothing.

"Scott." Wanda gently turned his face to her, begging him for an answer. For anything at all. "I'm telling you I'm in love with you."

This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening. He was pretty sure he was just imagining it. He must be, because it was physically impossible to die and burst with life at the same time, in the real world.

Scott was happy – oh, _insanely_ happy – to hear those words he'd longed so much for, but he didn't deserve them.

He didn't deserve Wanda Maximoff. He didn't deserve a single inch of her.

And she – she deserved so much better than him.

"Wanda." Shit, it shouldn't have sounded so patronising. "Wanda, please, look at us." He took her face between his hands, dying a little more in front of her broken expression. "Look at us, kid. I'm a solid mess. I'm a grown ass man who can barely look after himself and sometimes, incidentally, happens to do some good for people. Out of mere luck. And you – you're this amazing young woman who could have _anyone_ – anyone in the world down at her feet with a simple smile. Don't waste yourself on me. I'm not worth it."

Much to Scott's dismay, Wanda smiled.

Why wasn't she more… disappointed? Wasn't his reaction hurting her or – or at least maybe saddening her a little?

Why was _he_ the one who was a little hurt?

"I still haven't heard you say you don't feel the same about me."

Oh.

 _Oh._

Right.

She had a point. She definitely did. But...

"How can I say that? I _should_ – I know I should – but I can't bring myself to lie to you so shamelessly, and I hate myself for this. Oh my god, shut up, Scott!"

"You hate yourself," she echoed, sounding a bit perplexed. "Because you love me?"

What was the point in denying? Scott didn't even have the strength to.

"Yes!" he nearly shouted, and had to remind himself there was a handful of very dangerous superheroes sleeping behind the doors across the corridor. "Yes," he repeated a little less hysterically. "I'm sorry."

But Wanda seemed to disagree. In fact, she was beaming up at him, her hands resting at the sides of his neck. Warm. So warm.

"We can work on that."

"You think? I mean, _no_! No, we can't– "

"It's too late to take that back, Ant Guy," she nearly laughed.

Dammit.

She looked happy. She _was_ happy. She was so happy the warmth irradiating from her had filled the whole house.

And Scott… oh, he was such a goner. How could he have been so delusional to even _think_ he would be able to sneak his way out of this? He really never stood a chance.

Wanda's smile was _heaven_. It took Scott nothing to forget everything he'd just said about himself not being good enough for her and whatever else he'd babbled. Fuck good enough. He could be… mediocre enough for her. If she was okay with him being the utter piece of trash he was, who was he to argue?

He placed his hands over her wrists and stroked them reverently, feeling all bubbly inside. She was right: there was no turning back, now.

"Okay, Scarlet Girl." He rested his forehead against hers and sighed, basking in her own bliss. "Okay," he repeated, more to reassure himself than anything else. Their lips were hauntingly close. He wanted to kiss her. _He wanted to kiss her_. He _needed_ to kiss her. "Okay."

Wanda rose on her tiptoes, her arms locking around him to drag him to her. Her heart was beating as fast as Scott's, her eyes fixed on his lips. She leaned in with agonising languidness.

The crippling tension broke Scott's filters just at the worst moment: "You must be really crazy, kid, to settle down for– "

"Shut up, Scott."

And then – the universe broke.

Wanda's lips took away whatever Scott had been about to pronounce. They closed feverishly over his mouth, seeking, _demanding_ , her need so intense that he found himself pushed against the wall, out of breath, out of sanity. The kiss was almost desperate. Hungry. _Loving_.

He didn't know how his hands ended up on Wanda's hips. She was… all over him. Every inch of her body touched his, igniting a fire that threatened to wipe away all remnants of his self-control.

His fingertips dipped into her flesh, pulling her closer and closer, until all he could do to feel her _more_ was lift her up in his arms.

Wanda's legs locked around his waist. Her hands were in his hair – twisting, pulling, pushing. Her tongue teased his lips apart and Scott eagerly complied. The blood pumped furiously in his ears, erasing all external noises. All he could perceive was Wanda's frantic breath and muffled moans in his mouth, her tights under his palms, her breasts pressing against his pectorals. His head was spinning, clouding, blurred by crushing _desire_.

He wanted her. He wanted her so much it was driving him crazy.

The very last vestige of sanity left in him sparkled in the dark recesses of his conscience, fighting against the hot, red flares consuming his reason.

He almost lost it. He almost didn't care.

 _Almost_.

"Wait."

Panting heavily, he forced himself to pull back from the kiss, and discovered a whole new meaning to the term _excruciating_.

Wanda tried to kiss him again; he allowed them a quick, soft peck, and another, then nudged his nose against hers, begging her to hold back.

"We can't do this," he gasped, and was stunned by the extraordinary effort it cost him to say that. He was flushed from head to toe, and so aroused he was barely keeping himself together. "We can't." He put her down without letting go of her. Wanda's eyes flickered questioningly over his face. "Not now," he said with a faint smile. "Not like this. I want this, believe me," he added, even though he was pretty positive she had already noticed herself how blatantly he _wanted_ that. "But this is not…" He cast an eloquent glace at the wall behind him and the doors at the other end of the corridor. "I don't want it to be like this."

The disappointment slowly drained away from Wanda's features, replaced by serene surrender.

"Can we at least enjoy breakfast together until the guys get up?"

Relieved, Scott winked at her. "You read my mind, kid! My daughter guarantees I make the best pancakes in the galaxy. Wanna debunk her absolutely partial judgement?"

He offered her his open hand. Wanda took it, golden warmth spilling from her into him as they headed down the stairs.

Scott couldn't take his eyes off her during the whole breakfast. He burned the first two batches of pancakes because of this, but that made Wanda giggle in delight, and he was willing to burn every future meal ever just to be able to enjoy that addictive, heart-warming sound he definitely hadn't heard enough, so far.

"I think," Wanda said, studying a chunk of syrup-soaked pancake she'd just picked up. "We can work on that, too."

Scott looked up, goofily returned her smile with an inexplicable sense of _validation_ creeping up on him.

Maybe – _maybe_ – he didn't hate himself so much, after all. He had nothing on Clint, or Steve, or, really, anybody else, and yet it was him – _him_ , of all people – Wanda had fallen for. Crazy as it was.

He was average enough, and Wanda liked him – loved him all the same.

She _loved_ him.

He could live with that.

 _Yes_ , he mused, heart bursting, as Wanda, laughing, reached out to wipe a bit of syrup from his lip and licked it off her finger. _I can live with this._

 **x**

Around eleven, the guys finally graced Scott and Wanda with their presence. They all sat down around the two of them, surrounding them with burbling chit-chat and the clatter of plates and mugs being passed around.

No one questioned about Scott asleep by Wanda's door, nor why he and her had left the pub without a word.

The pile of pancakes vanished quickly and Clint offered to make some more. When he stood from his chair, he skimmed a rapid glance at Scott, who, for some reason, felt like he was being _warned_. About what, he could not fathom, but he found out quite soon.

When he left the kitchen to climb upstairs for a well-deserved shower, he found a post-it hanging on his and Sam's door. He picked it up, his guts twisting anxiously. He told himself he should have seen this coming.

He read the note, and honestly didn't know whether to be moved or worried.

 _YOU HURT HER AND WE ALL KILL YOU.  
WATCH OUT, SCOTTY! ;)  
(NO PRESSURE)_

 _Love_

 _Team Cap_

Scott grinned, folding the post-it and tucking it into his pocket.

They would have to work on that, too.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, I really have no idea what's taken over me. I know no one will probably consider this work, because this ship is probably one of the rarest I've seen in the MCU. But I was watching Civil War the other day, and the scene at the airport when Scott arrives and tells Wanda she's great, and her smile... I don't know, guys, SOMETHING clicked inside me, and I HAD to write this.  
If anyone at all is reading this, thank you. I don't expect any response, tbh. I'm aware you're doomed to stay in the dark if you write about rare ships, but still, as I said, I felt like I needed to write this.

I have proof read this a couple of times, but I'm sure some typos have escaped. Forgive me, feel free to point them out and i'll fix them straight away. Also, English is not my native language, so be patient, please.


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